Dear Diary
by Bittersweet Romanticide
Summary: A series of character reflective pieces. Pairings, if ever mentioned, will most likely be pokeshipping and contestshipping. Recent Chapter: Anabel - Fear
1. Misty HandMeDowns

So, I don't see a lot of these character reflective things. I'll do any character, I suppose, repeats as well, and this won't be updated consistently. Whenever I get an idea, I suppose. So do add it to your alerts if you like, I will update, just not often. I'll do the character name above "dear diary" each chapter, just so you have a warning ahead of time.

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**MISTY

Dear Diary,

I hadn't heard the term Hand-Me-Down before, not until that first day of first grade. Not from any of my friends, or a teacher, or some little book we had to read. It would have been nice if it was. Wouldn't have been as…not painful, but a bitter memory. Would have been softer. Would have made me softer, I guess. I don't have a lot of those soft memories, little conversations or riding a bike down the road, but I have a lot of harder ones. They aren't bad memories, and I didn't have a bad life. It's just…rough.

The boy I hung out with was my cousin, with hair redder than mine and eyes a forest green that never, ever shifted to any other color. He introduced me to his friends since preschool, told them I had a cooties shot and I liked cool pokémon, like tentacool, and the only thing I was girly about was that I was afraid of bugs. It took a little while, but they took me in like I was a boy. After a while, I'm pretty sure they thought I was a boy, and I'm pretty sure I thought I was too. But back then, you didn't know the real difference between the boys and girls. It came down to clothes, hair, and likes. I liked what boys liked. I had short hair like the boys. And my clothes…my clothes were a different bridge.

I found out about clothes, really found out about them, that first day of first grade. There was a little girl, a brunette, who raced up to me and pulled hard on my red suspenders. They were doubled up, then, a little loose despite the fact that we couldn't shrink them anymore if we tried. They often fell off my shoulder. I turned quickly, ruining any chance to had of snapping it when it slipped off and I worked my arm out from the hole. My fists came up in a defensive position, and waited.

"You're a girl, right?" she asked in that little kid voice.

Never mind that I had it too, it annoyed me. It always did. I could tell she had a lisp, even though she hadn't said an s yet. It probably annoyed me most of all because she was a girl. Every once in a while I would forget that I was too, but on any other occasion I simply knew that I had fought my way to hang out with the boys, to be looked at as a boy and get to play the fun games with them instead of covering my dolls in makeup. A girl had to fight her way to get in. She wasn't allowed on my side of the playground, with my boys. Funny, looking back on it, that even then I had a select few that were _my boys_.

I snarled, voice just about the same as it was when I first met Ash, "So what if I am? I haven't bothered you. Go play with your _doll_, stupid girl. You can come back when you figure out how to kick a ball. I'll kick your butt across the playground."

"Why do your clotheth look funny?" she said, a bit of an accusatory tone slipping in. If you can't understand her, don't feel too bad. I couldn't really understand her much either. "You look like a boy. We were looking at you, and Janie thed that you were a girl. I told her you couldn't be, abtholutely _couldn't _be becauth only big girlth and boyth wear thorths. Little girlth wear dretheth. She thed that _she _knowth thomeone who doeth that juth like you, so I came over to athk. Tho, you're a girl. You thouldn't wear thilly clothes."

"Why are you talking to this loony, mate?" my cousin asked, putting a calming hand on my shoulder, though that familiar Irish accent was always enough. "She can't even talk right."

"Well, not _every_one can talk like you, Connor," she said, batting her eyelashes.

The most phenomenal thing to most people about Kanto is the speech. We can't add. We can't solve a riddle. Our test scores aren't the highest, our kids aren't the strongest, but when it comes to people skills we excel like nobody's business. The same drama and speech skills you would expect from a fifth grader are already present in preschool. So us Kanto kids…we can turn a phrase, I guess. That's probably why it's so much fun to argue with Ash and Brock, despite the puns and blows to the ego we may acquire, talking is just too much fun to quit. So, even the little annoying lisp girl seemed to find a way with words. Well, wordth, as she would put it.

"Go away," I said firmly. "We've got better things to do."

"Like what?" she giggled. "Getting some girl clotheth? Juth becauth you have a pretty couthin you think that you can thay whatever you want and hang out with the boyth, but you're not thuppothed too. You're thuppothed to hang out with uth. I'll let you uthe one of my ribbonth if you make your couthin play with uth."

"I don't want your stupid ribbon and Connor doesn't want to play with you!" I shouted, stamping my foot stubbornly. "Go away!"

"You're juth jealouth becauth my clotheth aren't Hand-Me-Downs," she argued. I must've dropped my angry face, or given her some hint that what she said had affected me, because she kept on. "Yeah, all your clotheth came from your thithters. That'th why they aren't pretty like mine are. I mean, have you looked at yourthelf? Dethignth from yearth ago, with a boy kind of look. That outfit ith from your thithter Violet, when thee went through her tomboy phathe. It'th okay though, becauth they were in fathion then. They aren't now."

"These aren't Violet's clothes," I argued, looking back at Connor. He wouldn't meet my eyes, staring down at the springy grass. "These are my clothes. Mommy put them in my closet, she gave them to me. And she just gave me a pokedoll set. We made pretend battles with them, Connor. Remember? You saw Mommy bring them in, in the same handful she brought in my clothes. It's my stuff. Tell her it's my stuff, and Mommy just bought it."

"Yeah, Connor. Tell her. You have Hand-Me-Downth, Mithty," she mocked. If I had known at that moment what I knew now, I would have punched her in the jaw. I would have punched her in her in the nose. I would have done anything to make that stupid lisp stop. I would have said something witty about how Hand-Me-Downs were cool and she was lame and she had a stupid lisp. But I didn't know. I was an oblivious little girl. And the other little girl took advantage of that.

"Misty," he returned softly, "let it go."

"She's wrong, Connor. These are my clothes. Mommy gave them to me. Why would she give me my sisters' clothes? They need those clothes so why-?"

"They grew out of them," he said harshly. "They got big so she gave them to you. She wanted to save money, Misty. Your sisters all love clothes, but you don't. She knew you wouldn't notice so she gave you all their clothes. They aren't _yours_. You're the baby, Misty. You get whatever they have left over. Nothing you get is yours! They're Gym Leaders, filthy rich, eating turkey dinner and giving you the scraps is what it comes down to."

I was speechless. I distinctly remember that girl giggling, running back to her friends to tell them exactly what happened. I remember staring at Connor and, in little kid fashion, him storming away because he just didn't know what to tell me. I stood there for a very long time, staring down at my clothes. And I remembered. I remembered seeing so many of the clothes I wore hanging in my sisters' closets or on their bodies. I remembered my sister Daisy's pokedolls, and how hers mysteriously vanished soon after I got mine, how shifty she had gotten when I asked where hers went.

I looked at the other girls, in cute little dresses, all about the same style, same cute, the only thing that really changed was the color. There was a blush to all their cheeks. The same brand of lip gloss lingered in all their purses, and they would squeal over different scents and colors.

I shouldn't have, and I shouldn't feel this way now, but somehow…somehow it felt like I could have been a part of that. I could have gotten those fancy dresses and fit in those girls, and all those years of struggling to figure out why I was so different, that didn't fall into place until third grade and I finally figured out what the phrase tomboy meant. Now, I'm glad I wasn't a part of it, but a lot of this stuff is probably just going to be looking back and wondering: what if?


	2. Delia Song

DELIA

Dear Diary,

It's been years since I wrote in here. It's funny. There's an old song playing in the background, the really old types. It was Ash's favorite when he was little, one I let him listen to because it was clean, cheerful. I enjoyed it, but never quite the way he did. The name sounds like mine, Delilah instead of Delia, but it's close. Three syllables, and Ash was just good enough to replace the name whenever he sang it for me. When he goes off on his adventures, he writes it to Delilah instead of to Mom. I think it's sweet. Lets me know he still cares. It's good to know that.

Looking back over the last page I haven't written since before I was pregnant. Wow, way back then. Twelve years ago, technically thirteen, because of the way the dates work out, makes it look like thirteen. It's closer to twelve and a half. It's still strange to look back, no matter what the date. So much has changed. My handwriting, spelling, attitude. I can't believe how much milder I've gotten. I used to be a wild little thing. I was hot, sexy. How I went from that to Delia: Mother of the Chosen One is beyond me. I don't want to be sexy again, I like who I am, it's just strange to see the difference. Very strange.

Oh, wow. It's not the day I got pregnant that's the one to remember. The man's name was Cypress, my boyfriend of three years. He was a trainer. He was a very good trainer, still is. Ironically enough, Ash used to watch him on TV all the time. The man is a Champion now, running around, saving people. It's pretty amazing that Ash hasn't met him. Even if they did, wouldn't matter. Neither of them know, they haven't met. He knows he has a son, Ash knows he has a father, but neither really knows. Maybe it's wrong of me to keep it secret, but maybe it's not. Maybe it's better this way. I can only hope that it is. I can only hope that the day I want to write about was a good day, and not a mistake.

Mmm, the night though. I have to briefly mention it again. It won't get out of my head if I don't. It was a Thursday, not the first time having sex, and not the first time without a condom. But I know that was the night I conceived because it was a farewell sex. He came home, blurting about being invited to a League, a new League, one that's dead now. I was so happy for him. We were naked in no time, and the sex was good. Really good. Best we had had in a long time. I like to think it's because of Ash. He really is special boy, wonderful, sweet, the best thing that ever happened to me. It's important that I write that I don't regret that night. I was angry during my pregnancy, when I wrote that last entry, but I don't regret it. I'm glad I had him.

"We forgot a condom," he murmured against my lips. "I can't believe we forgot again. Thank Mew you're on the pill, Delia. We'd be so screwed if you weren't. I need to stop doing this. We need to control ourselves, no matter how beautiful and sexy and incredible your brown eyes are. Do you want to go again? I could. I'll wear a condom this time."

I giggled and cuddled close. "No, I don't want to go again. I'm tired. Wasn't that enough for you? It was enough for me." My tone turned doting and I began to run a hand up and down his thigh. "You were wonderful, Cypress, better than you've been in a long time. I don't know what's gotten into you but tonight was just…just wonderful. Maybe we should stop using the condom all together. That's what the pill is for, right? So you don't have to wear an uncomfortable condom? Do it the way nature intended. And one day I'll be off the pill and we'll have a kid."

"Don't joke about things like that," he teased. "You'll give me nightmares."

It's that reaction that made the decision so crystal clear. Nightmares about babies, that it could all be a joke. I didn't really know I was pregnant then, but I knew what would happen if I was. Cypress wouldn't stay, and if he did, he would certainly regret it. Maybe he'd get angry, shake the baby, hit me. I can't imagine it today, that he would ever do something like that. He was always such a nice man, a brave man, a good man, but children change things. Ash certainly would change a lot. He's no ordinary child. Not a big help for someone who hates children.

He went off on another journey. When the signs began showing, throwing up, nauseous, missed periods (even though they were missed regardless, thanks to the pills) and bulging stomach, I bought a pregnancy test. I took seven for good luck. No luck. They were all positive, every last one. That colored stick smirked up at me, showing just how pregnant I was. Too enforce it all, I threw up again.

It's easy to see why I'd leave, why I'd go live with my great aunt in Pallet. She was a nice old woman, sweet to the core. She took me in without any questions, and I didn't ever give her answer. I told her I was pregnant, I told her I didn't want to talk about it, and she nodded and went on her way. I worked, even with my stomach growing, and it wasn't hard to get the job. It was probably my aunt that arranged it, I'm sure. It's the only way I can think of that they'd hire a pregnant girl without a question. But, I hope they kept me on because I did a good job, and because I worked hard. I think I did, well, until the day my water broke while serving a customer.

And that was the day I got Ash, that beautiful boy with big eyes and a big heart. He was my entire world that day, and yet, as he grew, every time our eyes met it was almost bittersweet. He looked so much like his father, so much. I think it's because of that I often steered him away from girls. I've always had this irrational fear that, somehow, he would end up getting a girl just like me pregnant. And there would be another Ash in the world, another man who would never know his son, if he even had one.

And I wouldn't blame the girl if she never showed him. I wouldn't. Ash is no father. A good boy, yes, and I love him for it, but he's so much like his father. He's adventuresome, wild, joking, brave, bold, careless…it surprised me that Cypress even settled down. Ash won't settle down. He wouldn't make a good husband, wouldn't make a good father. He'll be a good friend to all, but never anything more than that. There's nothing wrong with that, is there? I don't think there is. And I don't think I'm being quick to judge. I'm not judging. I'm making a statement, a true statement. It's just fact. But I suppose judgments are based on facts, aren't they? At least, good ones are.

At times, I think I may just be acting selfish, stupid, protective. Perhaps it's because that little boy has become my whole world. I could stand it if he was someone else's. But one day…one day he might be. One day he might settle down with one of those pretty young girls he meets on his journey, he might have a one night stand with one of those pretty little things. I like to think my little Ash wouldn't do something as irresponsible as that, but I thought I was more responsible than I turned out to be, I thought Cypress was more responsible. No condom, I had forgotten my pill in all the excitement of him coming home. But the statistics, that the one day I forgot would be the day I was ovulating and be the day he forgot his condom…

Sometimes I wonder if I ever had any choice in the matter, or if I was always supposed to be the mother of the Chosen One.

Oh, Mew, I can't believe I had to walk away. I've completely lost my train of thought. Ash came home, what a coincidence, collapsed on the couch and fell asleep. He said Brock had stopped off in Pewter, said May had gone back to Hoenn. He didn't seem to heartbroken over it. Good. It probably means they didn't do anything terrible, though I can't imagine how they could. Ash can't possibly be fourteen already, can he? Regardless, May is only ten. Well developed for ten, but still ten. Ash would never do something like that! He couldn't!

Or could he?

Sex. I'm constantly tormented by it. When I first started writing, I said that I wasn't sexy anymore, but am I? Sexy is anything that has to do with sex, and I know I do. It consumes me. Sex was what gave me Ash, what ripped me away from Cypress, what plagues me night and day, what leaves me breaking down in the kitchen, screaming at my dead great aunt and her inheritance, though I'm never quite sure why it's her I'm yelling at, or the money she was kind enough to leave me. It's not her fault that I had a little boy that looks so much like the man I left, that acts so much like the man I left. That's just the irony of life, the twist of genetics.

He won't have a baby.

He's still my baby.

He was humming my song when he came in tonight.

…But I can't help but wonder if…(_here, a single watermark stained the page_)

Oh, Mew, Ash Ketchum! Are you still singing to me?

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**Look, we're updating!

I have no idea where this came from, but here it is. I've thought about Delia ever since I heard the song "Hey There Delilah" and for some reason I kept thinking of Ash singing it to his mother and we got this little demon spawn. Don't ask, the next one will probably be about Gary, based on a suggestion from a reviewer who I can't remember the name of now but will be given credit and thanks next chapter.


	3. Ash 150

If you want to construe it as such, there could be pokeshipping. I just thought there was friendship, but, then again, I hardly consider anything a hint and some people think that looking at one another implies twu wuv.

On the bright side, it's Ash, so you'll probably laugh a little reading this. I do love writing like Ash!

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ASH (His spelling errors fixed for your readability)

Dear Diary,

I'm almost afraid of them, of her. It's weird enough to have this slight fear of your friends, but if one of them's a girl? I don't' think I could be anymore embarrassed, not even if Gary found out about my diary. That probably doesn't sound as amazing to you and it is to me, but I swear that's the peak of my embarrassment mountain. Like I've said before, Gary is a stuck up, pompous, no good trainer that I'm rivals with. I mean, he's _technically _pretty good trainer, but nowhere near as good as me. Why would I keep him as a rival if he wasn't a challenge? I like a good fight. Makes me stronger. See, he's got to put up a good fight. And, sometimes, he has to win. But he almost never down. And I win way more often, so we don't really have to talk about that. 'Cuz I was talking about how embarrassing it is because I'm afraid of a girl. But, I mean, afraid isn't the best word, because I'm not afraid. I'm just really respectful. Or something. But I'm not scared.

Okay, I don't want Giratina to drag me to the Distortion World and put my insides on my outsides like my mom used to tell me all the time when I was little. I don't think you're supposed to tell kids that. I'm pretty sure that's what makes me afraid of girls. Which I'm not. And, if I was, it would only be her because she would kill a baby for a Klondike bar.

I lied. So, I'm sorry for lying. I am afraid of Misty. You can't _not _be. I mean, she's evil! She's even got red hair! It's not curly, but it's still red, well, orangey. It's called red. She's really strange, though. She constantly pulls Brock away from any girls that he falls in love with. It looks so _easy _for her! She twists his ear until it looks like it might twist off, and then she drags him away like he doesn't weigh anything more than her bag! Plus, she slapped me when we first met. It's not easy to get over a first impression like that. I mean who slaps people you don't even know! Nice people don't. I don't. She's a complete and total psycho and it's perfectly normal to feel like she's going to stab me with a knife while I'm in the shower. But, I get revenge because I use her body wash and shampoo, and she doesn't even _notice_.

Then there's Brock, and he's just scary because he _is_. You should see the dude, but you can't, because you're a stupid book. You don't even have emotions! Ha! You just have to listen to me write about all my problems. Maybe _you _have problems, diary, like, "oh, Ash's unwashed pants smell" or "I got wet" or "I'm afraid Charmander is going to set me on fire" but it doesn't matter because you're a book an d you don't have feelings. Ha! Ha! HA! Misty said that it's stupid for me to laugh at an inanimate-

I hit Misty for reading my diary. Then I went and hid in the bathroom. I locked the door and she keeps pounding at it to get in. She's also saying she knows how to pick locks. I bet she's lying. I told her Giratina would drag her to the Distortion World but she keeps saying she knows how to pick locks. I really hope she's bad at it. I'm holding the hose from the shower in one hand. She's so getting sprayed when she comes in. I hope she cares, 'cuz if she doesn't since she's a water trainer and all that would really suck, like super suck…like the biggest suckiest suck of all suckiness. And then she'll beat me up. And she might actually hurt me, even though I'm really strong and all.

So, anyway, maybe I should go back to what I meant to write about. It's not like I have anything better to do, since the psycho girl Misty had locked me in the bathroom until I die. Or until Brock comes back. I hope Brock comes back soon. I bet Brock's not going to do anything when he gets back. He doesn't like me. Nobody likes me.

Oh my Mew! What if Brock _doesn't _comes back? What if he's abandoned us and me n' Misty are supposed to make freaky evil children together that are going to take over the world? He _is _a breeder. But what if he's dead? What if he was the victim of a terrible pineapple incident? Misty says I'm being stupid. Misty also says that I talk out loud when I write. She also says I'm an idiot. I says I hate her, and she's mean and stupid and fat and she can't pick locks so Giratina is going to drag her soul away. She called me stupid. And she gave me a challenge. The same thing she made me do earlier today, and that's what I wanted to talk about and I will talk about it and I hate you Misty. I don't have ADD! I don't even know what that means, so how am I supposed to have it?

It was a nice day out, cool, clear. I like that. It's one of the really good parts about traveling. We were sitting in the woods, big trees and fresh air all around us. Brock was making soup. Chicken soup. Hot and good and creamy. I could smell it from miles away, I bet, not that I'd leave the pot to find out. I was really excited for lunch, like always, and I might have been whining and complaining. But, even if I was, it wasn't bad and it's not as bad as a certain evil person when that evil person with red hair complains because she wants to sit down because she has no stamina and she's not strong like us boys. But, yeah, to pass the time, I was talking about how good the food was.

"Stop complaining, Ash," the evil one moaned, "you're making me hungry!"

"I'm not complaining!" I snapped. "But what else am I supposed to do? Say how full I am? I'm hungry and I want soup and there's no way I can wait until it's ready unless it's ready right now! If I don't get it within the next minute I'll die!"

"It'll take at least five," Brock laughed, tapping the ladled he used to stir against the side of the bowl. "Are you going to die five times before you ever get to taste it?"

"Once is more than enough," Misty snickered, smoothing a wet cloth of her starmie.

"Ha. Ha. You're _soooo_ funny." I grinned, trying to joke because my mom always told me that the way to stop a bully is to kill them with kindness. Gary's advice is to kick them between the legs, but that doesn't work with girls (I've tried) and I'm pretty sure she'd kick back. And I'm a guy. And it works on guys.

Her eyes met mine for a long second, and I twisted in my seat, feeling nervous. I wondered if she was going to kill me. And then her face got red with anger, and I got even more nervous. And then she "humph"ed at me, going back to cleaning starmie. There I was, taking my mom's advice and trying to be a good guy, and she goes and she "humph"s at me. I don't know why she's following me if she doesn't even like me. It seems like an awfully stupid thing to do. Why would you follow someone if you hated them, even if they broke your bike? I'm going to pay her back. Eventually. I promised I would. She's just a jerk. But, like mom says, kill 'em with kindness so I won't be mean back. Maybe one day she'll be nice back, or, better, she'll get bored and go back to her stupid gym with her pretty sisters.

Anyway, Brock said, "Why do you have to tease him so much, Misty?"

And he sounded like he knew something I didn't, something that was a secret about Misty. I was jealous, because I wanted a secret with Brock. I never get secrets with anyone. Maybe it's because nobody likes me. I think I'm nice, but I don't think anyone else does. I think everyone hates me because they're never nice to me and they keep making fun of me and it makes me feel sad that no one really likes me. See, they _really _proved it today, because after Misty kicked Brock because he wouldn't stop asking why she followed me around, she came over and she punched me. A lot.

"Why don't you try to do something useful?" She punched my shoulder. "You want to be a trainer, so learn about pokémon!" Her left hand is as strong as her right. "Get out your stupid pokedex" –another punch- "turn the stupid thing on" –another punch- "and learn something!"

"I know lots!" I argued stubbornly.

"Willing to bet your dinner on it?" She crossed her arms and smirked at me.

I know I should have agreed, diary, but I couldn't help it! She was smirking, all proud, like she somehow knew what I'd never be able to do the challenge she had planned. She thought I couldn't do it! She thought I couldn't do it! And then, I looked to Brock, because I knew that he would have faith in me because he's a good friend. But he didn't! He was laughing at me too! He was hiding it real well, stirring his soup, but I could tell he was smirking just like she was! And I got really mad, because they were both making fun of me and Brock was my friend! He asked to come along! He cooked! He talked to me! He never hit me and then this happens! I'm not usually this…what's the word? Rash. Yeah. Rash. Thanks Misty! I'm not usually this rash, but something just really ticked me off and I lost my temper and I started yelling about how I was smart and a really good trainer and she was just jealous and should go cry like a big baby.

When I finally finish panting, she started listing. A list of one hundred and fifty. A listen in numerical order, the pokémon known in our region. It was awesome, not that I'd ever tell her that, but it was. She flew through the list, _flew _through it! Quickly, not a hint of inflection in her voice. Not breathing that didn't seem planned, not a dry throat or a high note in the thing, just her voice, smooth and fast, dashing through until "Mew" left her lips. She curtsied at me, breaking from her emotionless creepiness to smile.

"We have to do alphabetical," Brock said calmly, ladling out the soup. "Numerical came later. It was harder than the alphabet, but we pulled through. Nice chords, though. You sounded like a computer."

"I can't do alphabetical." She shook her head as if that would prove it more. "I mean, I could if I wrote them all down, then tried, but I can't do it in my head. But we probably skipped some of the stuff, started earlier too, Brock, because of the underwater factor. The pokémon don't try to hurt you, but the big ones forget and you can get swept away when they come by. You know, we didn't learn the alphabet 'til we go to school anyway. Knew all of gyarados' attacks, but I couldn't read until first grade." She laughed and waved at me. "Alright, Ash, it's your turn."

"Muh-my turn?" I stuttered. I stuttered, and I'm not afraid to admit it. Imagine if your teacher gave you a list of words, a list of one hundred and fifty words, and read them to you in no normal order than you could tell. Then she gave you a test on them, and not only do you have to write all one hundred and fifty words, most of which you don't know, but put them all in the exact order she read them to you. So, I mean, it's reasonable for me to stutter and say, "What does it have to do with being a good trainer?"

"How can you catch 'em all if you don't know 'em all? If you become a pokémon master you'll have responsibilities, and they don't call out species. They call out numbers when there's a problem. How would you stop a number three, Ash? What type of pokémon would you use?"

"A ground type?" I suggested.

"Are you _trying _to lose? The first nine of any region are the starters, grass, fire and water, and you take your chance with _ground_? Your only have a third of a chance to be right, you half wit! Why would you risk the odds you stupid boy? You bet your dinner on this. You recite them, or you don't eat tonight." I opened my mouth to argue, but she had already turned to Brock. "He bet his dinner! Until he names them, he doesn't eat. Too long and the soup gets cold. If he can't, he doesn't eat tonight. He took his chances. He made the bet, right Brock?"

I opened my eyes as big as I could get them, shrinking down and making the best growlithe face I could. It worked on mom, and Brock was like a mom, so I didn't see how it could work. But id didn't. Brock chuckled and poured a bowl from the pot, handing her a full one, then filled himself one. And then he said, "Sorry Ash, but you made the deal. A deal, no matter how you cut it, is a deal. You said you bet your dinner on it, and unless you can do it you don't eat tonight. You're a big boy. You'll live, and I'll make sure you get plenty to eat in the morning so you don't drop dead."

Then he turned to Misty and said, "You've got a lot in faith in the kid for someone who hates him, huh, Cerulean?"

"Shut up, Pewter," she muttered. "Your dad sells rocks."

Which was true. But I can't figure out why Brock said what he did, because Misty doesn't have faith in me. No faith at all. She's always putting me down and treating me like I'm stupid and pretending that I don't exist even through she's following me. And she won't stop either. She follows me everywhere, _never _leaves me alone, acts as if we're attached at the hip sometimes, except it's as if I'm the one that deform and she yells at me because I'm using her perfect body. That's really weird imagine, being twins with Misty, attached at the hip. I wonder if they feel each other's pain? That would be awesome, because then I wouldn't get hit by her anymore because if she tried to hit me she'd just be hitting herself. Ha! Take that, Misty! If we were Siamese twins I'd still win!

The door's rattling. Oh, Mew, I bet she _can _pick locks!

"Bulbasaur, Ivysaur, Venusaur," I said slowly, my eyes closing tight. And the dark didn't help. At all. The answers weren't glowing on the inside of my eyelids, and, I won't lie, I was really hoping that they were, and that they'd scroll like the credits at the end of a movie or my favorite TV show. My brain let me down. I don't know why I have the stupid thing. It never does anything useful. Sometimes I just want to trade it in for another one, especially then because it had told my mouth to talk, my stomach to be hungry, and now it couldn't back it up with facts so I wouldn't starve.

And then Misty did it again. But…it was different this time. Her eyes held mine across the fire place, and slowly, pronouncing each one like she had never heard the word before, or, at least like I hadn't. She wasn't showing off or gloating and…I _think _she _might _have been trying to help. It definitely wasn't the kind of help I got from teachers but…fair, I guess. More than fair. Unfair for her. But she did it, again and again until I got it right. I didn't really notice that 'til now. Maybe they _do _make more sense if you put them on paper.

But, the point is that I got it right, even if Misty kept saying the pokémon to me and Brock added in numbers and which were evolutionary forms and which. The point is that they were so impressed Brock stoked the fire and warmed the soup for me. They were that amazed that I did it! Even Pikachu seemed nicer that night! I felt like I was walking on top of the world! I was warm and full and clear and I bet I earned back their respect. I bet they never thought I was worth a thing, and now they know better. They won't ever doubt me again, because now they know I'm smart and

Misty unlocked the door. She opened it and walked away, looking kinda proud of herself. I asked her why, and she got real close to me, face inches away from hers. She smiled, and she did it _again_. She recited all one hundred and fifty, ruffled my hair, and told me I need to stop writing out loud.

I couldn't write for a while after she left. My heart was all jumpy, and I was sweaty, and my face was hot, and I don't think I've ever been more scared of my best friends.

**

* * *

**–shrugs- It's not Gary, sorry, but I somehow started and finished this in my notebook before his. Anywho, if anyone has any suggestions, go ahead and turn them in. I think I'm going to work on friendships too. Those are always fun.


	4. Gary Decision

GARY

Gramps sent me this today. Wants me to write in it. I don't have anything better to do, so I'm doing it. I don't _like _doing it, but it's better than doing nothing. It's too late to train. I don't want to wake my pokémon, but I can't get to sleep. It's got to be at least twelve, judging by the position of the stars and moon and the sun and all that junk. I'm real good with stars. Best way to navigate. Technology might be more accurate, but batteries die. Things get wet or banged up. Then they die on you.

It's really annoying when things die on you. Really annoying. I'd have to say it's one of the worst things in the world. Happened to me once. I was using it as a crutch, didn't want to use the stars like Gramps said, because they had all this GPS stuff available. And then it went and died on me. Should have known to always have a back-up plan. Should have known to have both the tech for when it's cloudy, and the stars for when it breaks – they always break, no matter how good the company says the stuff is – so I'll always have something to fall back on. I don't need Gramps to tell me that. I know.

It's nights like these that I can't help but wonder what I'm going here. I don't like traveling. I don't like the bugs and the cold and the rain. I love pokémon. I love winning. I love being with them, but I wish the gyms could come to me. I really love the feeling, when you figure it all at, like solving a puzzle. I get that all the time during battling, and when I figure out what my pokémon like to eat. And when I figure out how to navigate by the stars and all that. These are things that you can't go to the web and look up the answers. You have to figure them out yourself. I love doing that. I don't know how anyone _couldn't_. It's the best feeling in the world.

At least, I think it's the best feeling in the world.

Ash has this weird obsession though. Every time I talk to him, every time I see him, he's _obsessed _with his pokémon. I mean, he's not even into them because they can battle or because they're interesting or anything. He acts like the stupid pokémon are his only friends! I know they're not. He's got Brock, the gym leader I beat with Squirtle and Misty, who Daisy asked me if I saw after I won the gym badge. Guess she ran away to join Ash. Ran away from a gym! Jees, Ash, what more could you ask for? What are you focusing all your attention on pokémon when you've got such great friends? If I had friends like that, I sure wouldn't be relying on pokémon as my only friends. Mew, they aren't people! They're just creatures!

They _are _just creatures, aren't they? I mean, that's what I was told. That's what my dad told me. They're only creatures. You have to treat them right and raise them right and work with them, but they're not people. You don't have friendships with them. They're coworkers. If you think of them as anything more you won't be able to battle. You won't be able to watch your friend get hurt. It gets too painful and you just can't put up with it. And if I grow too close, I'll start losing like with Giovanni or at the stupid League because them getting hurt is so distracting.

_I hate Ash Ketchum_.

I bet everyone does, secretly. They don't tell him, but they do. I know I do. How can you not hate him? He's like this stupid little ball of sunshine, constantly after attention and happiness and rainbows all around. He's not even that good. I've beat him every other time except for today. He's not ever supposed to defeat me. I mean, he's just not. And he can't do it, either. He sucks at it. I almost feel bad for him, you know? Because he sucks at it so much. It's hard not to feel bad for someone when every time you fight them their stupid little Pikachu gets pummeled into the ground even though it won't stop standing up no matter how hard you hit it.

Every time I called up a gym leader, it's nothing but compliments. Isn't Ash great? Isn't Ash clever? Want to hear how he won at my gym? You'll love the story, promise. He's just so creative. Yeah, yeah, I know he's creative, but that doesn't mean power. That doesn't mean he's good at it, does it? No. He just uses weird strategies and nobody has any idea on how you're supposed to respond to that. He's just being tricky! It's not because he's great or awesome or perfect, but that's all you ever hear. I'm better than him! I win more! Why is he so special?

I can't understand it. He gets so many friends! Why is he so attached to the stupid things when he has friends? He's got _friends _and all he can think about is his stupid pokémon! All I have are stupid cheerleaders and that's _it_. You've got friends and you don't do anything with them? They'll travel! None of the people I try to make friends with like to travel. They're too freaking smart to sit out in the woods all night. Not even for one night.

Am I too smart for all this too? Maybe that's why I hate sleeping out here. I could be safe and warm in a motel, but I'm sleeping here. Without my car or my cheerleaders. Just me and Umbreon and my other pokémon and this stupid diary and my stupid thoughts and it's all because of my stupid _grandfather_ because he's a crazy old idiot who loves to torture me. He does love to torture me, too. He's a real jerk sometimes. I mean, he's still Gramps and he's not an all around bad guy, but there are days that he just really sucks.

I mean, he chuckles every time I try to tell him about this stuff! He says that I don't talk like a trainer, that Ash talks like a trainer. But I _am _a trainer! And I'm a real good one too! I don't know why he would think it's funny. I'm having a major crisis! I want to be a trainer, I want to work with pokémon, yet something still seems off and I can't figure out why. It's so annoying that Gramps doesn't even seem to care about my problem! I just can't get why he would laugh and shake his head and then refuse to tell me what's going on.

It can't be that I think I'm failing. Sure, I've lost one or two matches, but that doesn't change that I'm doing _awesome._ I've got all my badges, made it into the Indigo League, I have a nearly perfect track record. My pokémon are always great, they like me too, so it's not like there's some kind of bad tension between us. Everything should be perfect. Everything should be right, but it's not. I can't understand it anymore than I get why writing in this stupid diary is supposed to help. Gee, Gramps, thanks a lot for the stupid blank book.

Really, it would have been more helpful if he had gotten one of those stupid self help books, you know, not even the good ones, but the ones that just give really stupid tips. _Keep your head up! Don't kill kittens! _and millions of other obvious tips. But no. Not even that. He gives me a blank book. Says I'm supposed to take notes. He says this might help a bit. I don't know how that's going to help. If I knew what was wrong, I would have figured it out already! But I don't know so a stupid blank book can't help me, no matter how long I write in it.

Gramps. _He's _the problem in all this. He knows what's wrong, he knows what I'm going through and he won't tell me what it is. Why would he do that? Gramps is my grandfather. He's like my dad. He's the only adult I'm close to. I thought I could trust him with everything, and he had always told me that he'd be there for me, that he'd always take care of me. Where'd that Gramps go? Now I'm stuck with a stupid book and this really bad feeling in my stomach and hating myself because it's probably really obvious and I can't figure it out.

Please, Gramps, why are you doing this to me? I hate you so much! I don't know what I want anymore! All I want is to figure out what's going on. What could be going wrong? Am I sick? Depressed? Just angry because I'm hitting puberty or something? I don't understand. I love pokémon. I don't want to stop training or learning about them. I don't want this to end. I want to stick with my pokémon, to take care of them and all of that.

I want to keep learning. Why are ghost types strong against psychic types? Why would an eevee evolve through friendships? How do pokémon that evolve through friendship evolve in the wild, as they often do? Is having friends, even if they're pokémon, enough? There's so many questions, and I don't want to give up never knowing their answer! I want to learn all about pokémon and raise them and take care of them and learn what makes them battle well and what makes them battle badly and how everything works, even if I have to spend my whole life studying them!

Duh.

I hate you, Gramps.

**

* * *

**

I know it's short, but I really liked this one! XD

A special thanks to Tomoyo Kinomoto for suggesting this!


	5. Misty Kiss It Better

Misty

Dear Diary,

I know I'm going to sound a little…proper for a diary entry, but it's been a long time since I've written in a diary. For years all it's been is just papers and documents and things to submit to the League so I can keep my job and keep my gym and…I hate it. I'm only sixteen, and I've been doing this junk since I was seven. I was trained into this stupid job from the moment I was born and now…the second I start telling it it's going to turn into another report, but I'm trying to relieve stress and this is the only way I can think of, other than punching Psyduck in the head, and then I would have to include that in my reports and I would probably lose the gym.

Ash Ketchum is not a klutz, but he is a mess, and a terrible one at that. It is hard not to cringe when he says "I have an idea" or when he is about to try out that idea (which typically involves him standing somewhere high enough so the fall would hurt, but low enough so no long standing injuries would occur) but you can never talk him out of it any more than we can keep from hoping he _would _get a little banged up, just once, in hopes that he would learn the errors of his ways.

It is this kind of thing that happened nearly daily, and leads Ash to collect plenty of bumps and bruises and scars, as well as the odd broken bone completed with a doodled on cast. This messy, wild phase had started from the time he could walk, and has continued well into his teens with no obvious end in sight.

It probably didn't help that he is proud of his scars, flaunting them and showing them off to anyone who will hear the tale. And most did. He has that personality about him, that draws people close and makes them care about what he has to say, whether it is a thrilling battle or how he ate his breakfast, which _is _exciting, to be fair, but everything about Ash is exciting. One could get a rush just from watching him brush his teeth, and get a laugh out of standing outside the bathroom while he showered, because he sings loudly and poorly. It is impossible to figure out, impossible to understand how he could be so fascinating. He is _only _a boy (who saved the world), he is _only _a trainer (who never lost a rematch), he is only _Ash_.

But the problem remains that Ash is a very, very charming person.

And, if one ever happens to fall for Ash Ketchum (as plenty of lads and lasses have), one never quite loses that spark. There's always a little something -- a dream, a hope, or a memory – that could set a person's heart flying. But most decide by the time he has moved on that perhaps that spark was too much. If one wanted it, one has to have a bit of their own. One has to deal with it. One has to tend to it, so it would grow right and not grow out of control, until it was a neither a thing a good nor bad, but simply wild.

This is why he has his mother. This is why he has Brock and it _might _have been the reason he had me.

"Ow," he said, dropping the book to the floor. He was sitting on the bed, _my _just made bed, with his legs curled under him and clutching to his finger like someone had just set it on fire, which, truth be told, I was just about ready to do. "Misty, get another band-aid! Your stupid book bit me!"

"Well, maybe that means you shouldn't be stealing my books," I retorted.

I stalked over and scooped up the offending object, a war-torn version of "The Catcher in the Rye", and set it on my bed, next to the barely bleeding boy. I could not even see the blood, to be honest. He was sucking his finger like he could drain imaginary paper fibers from the cut, like that would make the pain go away. It was a silly habit for a fifteen year old boy, and he contrasted his expression of pain with a happy, slow, swing of his dangling legs. I stopped those stupid legs, yanked his fingers out of his mouth, and examined it closely.

"You baby," I muttered, slapping his hand and pushing it away. "What cut? I can barely see it! What's it, that little spot of blood? I've seen commercials longer and deeper than that."

"A paper cut is a paper cut. And how much worse to you want it? I bleed a lot! Look how much I'm bleeding! That means something's wrong! I'm going to die thanks to your stupid book." He shot the thing a glare, but the book did not respond. I think he might have been surprised that it did not. He had a slight look of it, he always does when something does not go just the way he wants it to.

"_Not _because of the book, because of _your _stupidity. How do you cut yourself on a book just by holding it? I can't stand you sometimes! You're using up all my band aids and you've only been here a few weeks." I hesitated, mouth opening slowly, because what I had just said was very weird, because Ash is a trainer, and he does not stick around. "Come to think of it, Ash, why _have _you been here for a couple of weeks?"

"Your birthday!" he cried, grinning like he had won a spelling bee.

"Has ended," I shot back. "You _came _for my birthday."

"And I'm staying to make sure you're good at being sixteen. So far, you have a C. You're terrible at keeping others safe. Look at my finger and all the other battle scars I've gotten."

"Don't you think that's more _your _fault than mine?"

"No."

I jumped onto the bed, wrestling him down and pinning him. I sat on his chest, wrists pressed against the mattress and glared into his face. We have always been insanely close. It comes from knowing each other for the past six years, four of which were spent hardly having a moment to ourselves, always with each other and our other friend, Brock. I miss Brock, come to think of it. I have not seen him in quite some time. I should write him.

"Ash _Ketchum_," I said finally. "You tell me right _now _what you're here for."

He laughed. He has a nice laugh. Brock has a better one, but Ash's is light hearted and pleasant. "Gee, Mist, I don't think I'm smart enough to figure out the meaning of life."

I pulled away and I was pouting like I was five again and someone had just taken the last cookie from the jar. I was no longer on his chest, by this point. I was sitting on the bed. "Ooh, I hate you! You're not even funny! Doesn't matter. You'll be in Pallet soon enough."

"How come?" he asked.

"How come? How _come_? It's your birthday, next week, you idiot!" I raged. "Don't act stupid. There's no _way _you forgot your birthday but remembered mine!"

"Maybe I forgot them both," he laughed, a bit bitter.

"Maybe," I plunged in, not noticing the tone at the time. Now it seems pretty clear, but hindsight is always twenty/twenty. "You never remember anything except what you ate, huh? You're pretty good at remembering food. Sure shows your priorities, huh?"

"Misty," he said, as suddenly as the 'ow' from before. "Misty, my finger still hurts. I need you to clean it and get me a band aid." He focused intently on a spot on the ceiling. "Clean it and wrap it, and you can get a C+. You can be like Brock and Mom."

"Clean a _paper _cut? Ash, it's not even _bleeding_." I sighed and flattened myself out next to him. "Gotta be careful with these cuts. There's this thing going 'round Cerulean. 'Scalled the Berserk Gene. 'Cept it's not a gene. It's a disease. It makes your pokémon get super strong, but keeps them confused. Works on people too. Have you gone swimming? That's where you get it. You gone berserk?" Then, quieter, I could not help but ask him: "You're being weird."

He giggled. "I am weird."

"Weird for you," I said. "Come on, Ash. What are you doing here?"

"I'm staying until my birthday," he chimed. "Happy birthday to me! Just a week or two and _I'll _be sixteen and you'll be sixteen and you won't be older than me until next year!"

"I'm still gonna be older than you, always am 'less there's some kinda time warp." My speech started getting really bad at this point. He does that to people. I never go to Pallet, never ever, and yet he drags me into a Pallet Town accent as thick as if I was born there, same thing happens to Brock. Sometimes he'll suck the Pewter right out of him and sometimes his grey city's accent gets so thick I have to spend a while trying to sort it all out. It gets worse, because when I am exhausted he draws out the stupid Cerulean accent in me, the one I got when I played in the center of the city with my cousins while my sisters went shopping and got their Valley Girl accent. I even caught myself saying "amn't" at sixteen. Amn't! Instead of I am not or I'm not, amn't! Ridiculous!

"Nuh-uh."

"You won't talk to me," I snapped. "You just joke around. There's something wrong, Ash, so you better tell me or I'll…I'll…"

"What's wrong what me staying with a friend? I mean, there's been notes and calls but we haven't _really _spent time together, have we? I thought you _wanted _to see me. I didn't think you'd want me out of the house or think that there was something wrong because I wanted to crash at a friend's place for a little while."

"Shut up, Ash," I snarled, all my muscles tightening.

"Why, feeling guilty?" he taunted.

"No, you're making yourself look dumber than usual."

"Not an easy task, huh?"

"Stop it!" I shouted. "All you're doing is making jokes when we both know something is wrong! What's wrong? What happened that you can't tell me what's wrong?"

He froze and he stopped and he stared at the floor for a very long time…and it was very quiet in my room, because I didn't have anything to say either. But, finally, he met my eyes, his watering a bit, watering a lot. I could have seen it from a mile away. His voice trembled and he extended his hand to me, and I felt like I was the responsible one and he was the three year old that I had had through some kind of accidental unwanted pregnancy. "Your book bit my finger."

I paused. "Yeah…I guess it did."

"It hurts," he continued.

"You want me to clean it and wrap it up?" I asked him, trying my best to be nice about it.

He glared down at the finger again. "'Sgonna sting, when you clean it. Can't you just wrap it up?"

I shook my head. "It'll get infected if you don't. You could get a flesh eating virus or the stupid gene thing."

"Berserk Gene," he corrected.

"Yeah. That's the one."

It was deafeningly quiet, the clock ticking away on the wall getting louder and more annoying with every second it told us had passed. Ash had become insanely focused on his finger, squeezing and poking at it until it bled again, those tiny little dots that seemed like nothing. They hurt him more than the bumps and bruises in the heat of battle, I bet. I bet he wanted to feel better. He didn't want to hurt anymore.

"I don't want it to get infected," he assured. "I'd hate to die or anything…'cuz you'd be really bummed if I died. I would too. I wouldn't want to die because…because I didn't fix something easy to fix."

I nodded and left, coming back not too long after with antiseptic and a bandage and a cotton ball from the bathroom. It's not too far, really, hardly down the hall. He held out his finger, shaking a bit as I soaked the cotton ball. He never liked the sting, and his cheeks got really red when he jerked away and cried out. It was like he hadn't known the pain was coming. But he gave his finger back and I finished my job, cleaning the cut and covering it with a band aid. I did a good job too, didn't even need to redo the band aid.

"You're almost as good as mom," he laughed, admiring his latest scar. "Not as good, but almost. I'd give you a B for this."

"Hey, that's a perfect band aid," I insisted and tapped the finger to prove it. "Washed, dried, cleaning and put on without hesitation. You better not be taking off points because of the sting, you baby. You knew it would sting."

He giggled. Then, he started swinging his legs forward and back, forward and back, alternating the two, and I had to duck away because one came swinging right by my head. He did not miss it, actually, he skimmed my head with his stupid foot, and then he had the nerve to say: "You forgot to do something."

I shot back before he had finished his sentence, "Did not!"

"Did too! Guess what it is?" I stared at him, and he laughed. "You forgot to kiss it better!"

"That's all?" I replied. Childishly, like a baby kisses a family member's cheek, I pecked her lips to his finger and sat back. When I looked up at him, he seemed disappointed, like he had not though I would go through with it, and he wouldn't have to give me the extra points. "Is it all better now, or do you need a lollipop too?"

"I wouldn't mind a lollipop."

"I don't got no stinkin' lollipops," I said in my best Brooklyn accent, but it was not very good.

Thankfully, it was Ash, so I did not have to be embarrassed. Except, it was a little embarrassing, because then he did not say anything. He did not laugh. He did not joke. He just stared at his finger for a very long time, like it was the most fascinating thing in the world, and he kept poking at it even though I had done a really good job and the alcohol sting must have faded by then and messing with it would only make it hurt more.

"You turn into an adult when you're sixteen. Legal and spiritual," he explained. I nodded, because he was right about that when it comes to Kanto. "You do it when you're ten too, but that's way different. That's getting a pokémon, and it's usually not right on your birthday. It's Trainer's Day. It was my birthday, though. I was just lucky because the summer equinox was on the same day. How excited did you get?"

"I'm a leader, Ash. I got my first pokémon when I was five years old, not ten. I can't tell you how I felt. I've always had pokémon, even when they weren't legally mine."

"Oh. Right."

He stopped, and I worried that I had just ruined his moment, that he could not tell the story anymore if I could not relate, but I could not lie. I could not drag him back, because it was Ash. He could always tell when anyone was lying. It would just end up with more pain and he would get mad because I had lied to him and then he would not talk to me at all. And, worse, the stupid boy has been getting more emotional than ever.

But he did continue: "Well, it's really exciting, trainer's day, especially if you don't get to be around pokémon all day every day. I overslept, but mom told you that. I was dreaming and I threw my alarm clock. Could happen to everyone.

"One time I kicked Daisy in the head while I was sleeping," I sympathized.

He grinned. "Exactly. So I went and I threw it and I was late, and Gary had a big party for him leaving and al I had was my mom. I don't mind that much, but I was bugged because my dad wasn't there."

"You have a dad?"

"Don't you?"

I blushed and dropped my head to my hands, trying to hold back a few embarrassed giggles. "Sorry, you just never told me about…about your dad before. You acted as if he was dead, I mean, the way you talk about him now…I guess, I mean, I thought he was dead or something." It all came out sounding a little insensitive, so I put on my best sweet voice and tried, "Isn't he?"

"Not unless I haven't gotten the news yet." He laughed lightly, still a little bitter.

"He's sorta a trainer, sorta not. I can't really explain it except he does a lot of research for Oak. And I mean a lot. He's always out in the field, comes home one day out of a hundred. I see him less than I see most of my extended family. He's just so busy. And don't give me that he care, but he can't. He didn't even know what day my birthday was, or how old I am. He missed my Trainer Day. How could he miss that? He didn't know I'm turning sixteen this year, turning into an adult. He's not coming. He doesn't care. I don't even think him and my mom get along so well. I…I think my mom's with professor Oak and…Oak could be my dad. Anyone could be my dad. For all I know, my mom was sleeping with the milk man by the time she got me in her stomach." He dropped his hand to his hands. "You're the only one who would get this."

"Me?" I blinked. "Why me?"

"You know…" And there was a mean gleam in his eyes as he continued: "'cuz you were a mistake too."

Ash's innocent comment looked like it hit me like a bullet. I felt my entire body jerk once, just once from that imaginary bullet impacts, my jaw dropping and eyes widening. Then the burning blush crept up my cheeks and the stuttering started, which turned into a rant on my sisters being my parents' favorites, which really did not make any sense as to how I would not be a mistake. He stepped me with a hand to my shoulder.

"Sorry. I didn't know that you were. I just guessed."

But he was lying. I know he was. I can always tell. That was why I tried to push him further, try to catch him and, more importantly, prove to him how wrong he was about me being an accident. I thought that would be easy, after all, it was Ash. He never wins any kind of real argument, so, with a shot at him like: "And why would you say that? What kind of proof do you have?" I thought I had it won. I didn't.

"Your room's in the basement," he started proudly, as if he had been storing up data all to be released at this one stupid moment, "like they didn't have room. Most your clothes are hand-me-downs, almost all of it, whereas your sister get bran new baby clothes, sorta like they hadn't saved up money for you. Then there's, like, what? Ten years difference between you and Daisy? Eight between you and the twins? Doesn't sound like planning to me."

"Maybe that's just because you don't know what you're talking about." It did not sound convincing to me then, and it does not sound convincing to me now.

"Stings, doesn't it?" He laughed.

"This isn't about me."

"Isn't it?"

"It's not, you-"

"You brought the subject up. I think you wanted to talk. So, what do you have to say, Misty? There had to be something you've excited about." He put his chin in his hands and leaned forward, like it was some kind of playful, teasing game instead of an almost vicious attempt to make himself feel better. "Did your parents not love you? Adopt you from a dead relative? Find you on a doorstep, abandoned? Have you by mistake?"

"If you don't want to talk," I said slowly, trying to control myself. It was something I had gotten pretty good at, mostly thanks to the never ending paperwork sucking the life out of me. I have felt this way since I first got back to the gym, and it has only been getting worse and worse. Sometimes, I barely feel like I can make a snappy comeback anymore. Not even for Ash. "I'm leaving, so stop if you want me to stay."

"Were you?" he whispered. I had half a mind to smack him, but there was something in his voice, weak, pitiful, something that demanded a hug over a smack for once. "I bet I was. I make everything harder for her and all I do is get into trouble. I'm a terrible kid. Man, I'm a terrible kid."

"I think about it too, Ash," I consoled and I still was not lying. I usually lie quite a bit, but not tonight, not around Ash. "I know how you feel but…they had to love is, didn't they? If they didn't they wouldn't have my room in the basement as nice as it is. You mom wouldn't be so worried every time you run off on an adventure. Just because…if we weren't on purpose, at least they don't regret it." I paused, saying something so stupid and wondering if Ash and I had switched brains for a second. "You know, silly putty was a mistake."

"It's not the same," he muttered.

"Sure it is. Mistakes aren't always bad and…adults aren't perfect. We ask a lot of them but…raising a baby isn't easy. Some people can only make a child, they can't raise one. Sometimes older kids have to help raise the little kids." I gently reached out to run a finger over his band-aid, thinking about all the journeys we had had in the past, and how many times Brock and I had to bandage up Ash because his mom just was not there. "They grow up all alone, but we grew up together. We know how to take care of each other. We knew how to kiss it better."

His head dropped to my palm, his bandaged hand taking my wrist and holding it tight. I had no idea what he was doing, so still, so silent, he could have been sleeping, until he started talking to me: "I don't know how much longer I can do this. I wasn't…" he looked up at me, taking a shaky breath. "I need you to tell me what to do, Misty. Whenever I see my mom I just want to yell at her, to see it she knows who my real dad it or why my dad doesn't care or…I don't think she'll tell me." He dropped to my hands again. "Misty."

"You grew too fast to grow up," I murmured. "Ash, I don't know. I can't fix this. I can only make it hurt less. I can tell you that it doesn't matter, that you don't need to worry about it. You're not your parents. You're you. Their problems aren't yours, so let them sort it out. You're a good boy, Ash. If you keep trying to fix the bad stuff that happens in the world, you'll never be okay. There's too much for you to fix." She laughed. "And I don't know if I can patch you up every time you need it. Me n' Brock only have so many band aids in our first aid box."

He lips twitched up the slightest, turning up to look at me. "You still forgot to kiss it better."

I smiled, and I let him hear that little bit of me that I can never --almost never-- let go unchecked. The part that I almost cannot let myself write down now. It is just so hard, writing all this down, letting all this go, exposing to the world how I really feel, even if it is just a diary. It is a risky thing, someone could read it or find it and post it to the web, but I need this. I do not have Ash or Brock or anyone anymore to pull me away from the pokémon and being on my own and running away and hiding in the darkest streets Cerulean has. I have to force myself to do this, to rely on myself for something I have not ever been able to do before.

I told him, never-there Cerulean backstreet accent and all, "I amn't able t'kiss th'one better."

And he told me, "Yeah, but you can have an A for effort."

**(PAGEBREAK)**

I was halfway through writing what I thought was going to be a humorous AAML third person oneshot when I realized that it wanted to be in the Dear Diary collection, so it joins the humble ranks of first person memories. I hope it turned out okay, and didn't get too weird with the accents and all, but I can't help adding little traces of culture, y'know? We don't get any of that in the show, and I can't help but wonder what the differences are between regions and cities.

By the way, anybody see the parallels between this and "The Catcher in the Rye"? I've been reading it in English, and I guess it subliminally gave me thoughts of Ash, with his hero complex and all that. Curse that infernal book, ruining what was supposed to be romantic comedy!


	6. Anabel Fear

Anabel

Dear Diary,

People are always so scared of me. I think it's because, on some level, everyone knows about aura. It doesn't matter if they haven't heard it or don't believe in it or if aura is actually something perfectly ordinary that could be found in any person or pokémon or machine, if one would like to build a machine that could sense it. They know that I can see their feelings and practically know their thoughts, and it scares them _so much_.

The scared part isn't the biggest problem, not the real problem. The real problem is, I don't know how I feel about that, or even how I'm supposed to feel. I don't have my parents around, and no one ever gets too close to me so I can never ask. It makes me wish that someone wouldn't be terrified of me, so I could ask. But then I would have the problem in the first place, so it wouldn't matter. But, not too long ago, I did get my wish. One person wasn't afraid of me.

I met up with Ash again. He's so amazing to me, because I've never met someone else who can sense aura like me, other than a lucario or two. Plus, his aura is just _delicious_. It's like the sweetest, saltiest, sourest, best candy in the world. Being around it makes me giddy, and opening up as wide as I can, to absorb it all, to drink it in, is almost enough to make me want to scream. If you've never sensed aura, you wouldn't understand it, why I would find it so…so intoxicating, but I can't explain it. It's just…it's the best candy I've ever tasted. And, what's better, he's not scared of me. He talks to me, he even thinks we're friends. Mew, I've never had a friend before.

He brought his friends too. Brock, with his aura as smooth and bland as water. May and Max are about the same level, only more exciting, more like juice. Neither of them have any substance, like Dawn. She's something in between them and Ash, like yogurt with fruit and nuts in it. Hers is the easiest. It's not overwhelming but it's interesting and easy to dive into. Dawn would probably be the one I'd choose to be my best friend. She'd be the only one I could handle for so long.

The only friend I actually had a problem with was Misty. Her aura was pure meat, not candy like Ash's. A steak that was marinated in wine, cut thin and raw. It's not her that makes herself interesting, but her situation. With three sisters, she's the runt, constantly being pushed around. She's bitter about her family, dead parents, her life, but striving to be excited and cheerful. It's nowhere near as intoxicating as Ash's, but she's interesting. She's most fascinating because of that primal fear she has. Of _me_! What could I ever do to her?

She's so much stronger than me, physically, though I'm sure I'm smarter. I read and think, instead of wasting all my time swimming. But, like most physically powered, she probably think she's a genius too. There's no reason for her to fear me, but she does and she's not even confused about it! Most people don't know they're afraid, and the ones that do have no idea why! She doesn't have the slightest bit of confusion! I know she can't possibly know about aura, but somehow…somehow she knows what she's afraid of.

I really don't know why she should be afraid or hate me or anything. I've been nothing but nice to her from the moment she came. I always smiled, always shook her hand and nodded, always gave her compliments. She returned them, sure, but nervously, always looking for a way out of wherever we were, _away from me_. I mean, I know everyone but Ash is terrified of me, but not as much as she is. Not _like_ she is.

So I asked Ash about it.

"Oh, that?" he said lightly. "Misty knows things."

That hung in the air for a while as he returned to going through his pokedex. As if _that_ was an explanation to why she would be afraid of me? What could she have known? I haven't ever hurt a fly, let alone a person or a pokémon. There was nothing she could know that was bad about me. So I focused back on "know" and thought that _maybe_ she was psychic, that she could see the future, but that seemed ridiculous. It made me think that, if she was psychic, she would have no reason to fear me. Her powers would be far greater than mine, unless she was a very, very poor psychic.

"What do you mean by that?" I asked.

"Well, that's what Misty does."

"What Misty does?"

"Brock's good at breeding, May's good as coordinating, Max soaks up information like a sponge, Dawn's basically the best butt kicking sidekick ever, and I'm the one who fights. Misty knows…things. She knows when there's ghost and danger, when anything weird's going on. She's like our warning system. She probably knows about your aura and, you know, she doesn't know what it is so it's scary."

"But you don't know for sure?"

"No. I guess not. I'm only guessing."

"Could you…can't you talk to her about it? I feel bad that I'm upsetting her. Can't you tell her about the aura and calm her down? I'm only worried because I know she won't have a good time if she's always so afraid of me." Which was a lie, which was a big lie. I didn't give a ratata's ass about that. I wanted the why and how and all that. It was to satisfy my own curiosity, not to make her feel better. I bet he knew that too.

"I could," he said reluctantly. "I can't promise you that she would talk to me, but if I explain everything she might feel better. Odds are that she won't, but we might be able to come up with something that'll work. If nothing else, knowing what she's up against will make her feel a little better." He paused and looked at me. "Anabel, you're not upset about this, are you? It's not that she doesn't like you, it's just-"

I giggled. "Oh, Ash, I'm fine! Can't you tell by my aura?"

"I don't usually read aura, not unless someone asks me to, or if they're missing and there's no other choice. But now that I'm reading yours…well, no, you don't seem fine. I mean, the outer layer of aura, sure, but the second layer sure isn't."

"That Misty," I said, changing the subject quickly. I didn't want him digging too deep there. That would only lead to trouble, maybe talking about my past. I didn't like heart to heart sharing moments. I wasn't good at them. I'm still not, in fact. "She doesn't have powers, right?"

"Misty? Mew no." And he laughed like the idea was crazy, which really relieved me. She didn't have powers. That meant she was no match for me. I had the upper hand over everyone here. No one had aura besides Ash and I could use it a million times better than he could, even if he didn't have a much greater potential than me. She had a good reason to worry, if she crossed me.

So, that night, I sat in bed and felt the auras. It wasn't long before Misty's and Ash's lined up, the perfect meal for me, with dinner and dessert. They started out calm, passing chat, and then, I think, they shifted into aura talk. A few minutes of that, and her aura spiked with panic. She had figured out what I could see, I bet. What Ash could see. A moment later and Ash's spiked much higher than hers. And once I shook off that delirious feeling I always get from his aura, I tried to find hers. Then I found I couldn't. He was overshadowing her, blocking hers. That ticked me off. The little coward. The little_ bitch_ was blocking me from seeing her aura.

I only got madder the next day when everything was almost back to normal. Whenever Misty was around Ash, he threw his aura over her. All it took was a tap to his shoulder or a wishful glance his way, and a second later I couldn't feel her thanks to him. I couldn't feel anyone, actually. Whenever he wasn't, hers was almost gone. It took effort and training to keep an aura hidden. He'd taught her how to hide it, but I didn't hate him for it. Only her.

She smiled at me that day. Bright, happy, knowing she had won. Oh, I was practically blind to her emotions but I still knew…I knew despite that her aura had been taken from but that she must have been smirking, gloating over her stupid victory. I couldn't even tell when she walked in the room unless I saw her with my eyes. No one had ever done that. I couldn't think why anyone would want to, except to hurt me. That's what it felt like, an offense against me.

I cornered her, when Ash wasn't around, and whispered her name.

"Anabel," she said, spinning on her heal with a smile. "Hey. Sorry if I was a bit distant before. Ash explained to me what was going on and I fixed the problem. It took nearly the whole night, and I had to stay up until three but I finally figured it out. What a relief off both of our shoulders, huh? With a little more work, Ash says I should be able to hide it without thinking about it, and then I won't need him to cover me."

"Why would you need any of this? Why not just be like everyone else and just leave your aura the way it is?" My voice was very still. I would have imagined it would come out much angrier or louder, or at least with a tremble, but I just sounded…inquisitive.

She didn't seem to take it that way. She stiffened, very much, or else I wouldn't have noticed it. I was very out of practice, reading body language. Aura is much easier. Words are too, but, well, her voice was just as calm as mine when she said, "I'm a private person. I…I had a talk with Ash a while back about how wrong it is to just go around reading people's aura, so he stopped doing it. And…and we both weren't sure if you could, since you were born good at it."

"Did you think about how it would make _me _feel?"

"Well, no." She shuffled nervously. "Like…like I said before, Anabel, it isn't because I don't like you. I asked Ash not to read it either. It's just because I'm a private person, not because I hate you or anything. Please don't get mad. I just came her for a good time. I really didn't want to-"

"I can't _see you _now," I snarled, stepping closer. "I have no idea what you're feeling! I can't read your aura! What right do you have to take that from me? It's _my right _to read your aura and you go and hide it from me! Making me blind! Making me act like I'm some powerless pathetic girl who couldn't even sense an aura like Ash's a mile away!"

She squared up her shoulders, fists curling up tight. "It's _my _aura! What makes you think you can look at it whenever you want to? Those are _my _emotions! Those are _my _feelings! Those are _my _thoughts! You think _you're _the one being wronged? I've met psychics! I know people who can see aura! They all know that you can't barge into people's minds and feelings without asking them! It's like reading someone's diary! It's wrong!"

I was shrieking now, shaking too. I probably looked like I was possessed by something, but no one had ever done this before. It was…it was so strange and so _wrong _to me that someone would rob me of my skill, the thing that made me different and better and a Frontier Brain. The power was what made me someone. My power was _me_. I was nothing outside of it, just a shell carrying some glowing, mystical energy, and she was making even _that _worthless.

"_You can't take this away! This is mine! You bitch! You sick little coward! Who are you to steal this? Who are you? You're nobody, do you hear me? You have no powers! You're not special! You're not like me or Ash! You may have something interesting about your aura but you're worthless if you can't even read it! You're nothing! You open your aura back up right now or I'll-_"

She punched me. A lot. Hit after hit, kicked, slapped, probably bit a few times too, she came after me and I tried to fend her off. That primal fear…I'd stirred it up. My body was defending me though, and doing a poor job of it, while my mind kept ranting and raving about how she had taken her aura from me. I didn't realize I was talking until Brock had settled Misty, calmed her down and it was only my screaming that echoed in the forest.

Eventually, that died down too. I was laying there, blood from my nose pouring into my mouth, eyes swollen shut and body aching, breathing hard…and I didn't know what to do. No one did. Well, no one until Misty decided it'd be a good idea to shout one last "it's _my_ aura, not yours!" before running off. She'd dropped her guard again, and I could feel the guilt and anger and confusion and, weirdly enough, _embarrassment _boiling up.

They've left then, not saying much to me. In fact, there were just a few hasty goodbyes after they patched me up. Misty had bought me chocolate, a note inside saying she was sorry for hitting me, but hoped I had learned something. They all seemed more scared of me, and not just for some unknown reason, but a real fear. I don't understand why. I've done nothing wrong. But people are _scared _of me.

_Why?_

**

* * *

**

First things first, I keep searching for someone else who I think would be willing to kick ass or really confront people to get their point across, but all I can think of are the Waterflower sisters and, for just plain verbal confrontation, Gary. None of the pokémon characters seem to want to kick some butt so…I hauled Misty back. If anyone else can think of someone, I'll be glad to use them.

Next, as a few of you may know I'm a little peeved at the series because Anabel could have been a fantastic character, but they ended up making her nothing but a power. This has been in my head a long time, and though I'm working on Professor Oak's, this is what came out first. I feel that she really is nothing but a power, and that's all she seemed to be good for in the show. No one but the pokémon get close to her, she's very reserved and bland, and it seems like she honestly doesn't know what to do with people. She just treats them with the same common politeness as she would with any challenger…except Ash. And if any of you think this is obsessive, I decided to tone down what I felt she would really be like. I figured she'd be _way_ more obsessed.

By the way, I saw the movie, and they seemed to be very vague and basically used it as "search and rescue" and "blow crap up". So, since it obviously comes from spiritual aura and Anabel seems to be able to use it to feel pokémon's emotions, I decided that this would turn out okay.

If anyone would like to do a fic where Anabel is disturbingly obsessed with Ash and/or uses aura to manipulate people's emotions, I'd love you forever. I'm becoming majorly fangirly over crazy!Anabel.


End file.
